


life is not a song

by DottyDot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Post S8, do not think too hard about this one!, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: "No," her father leaned in to kiss her cheek, "My beautiful girl must always remember that life is not a song, and for that she should be grateful.”Jeyne pulled him down into a hug, “You always say that.”“And I am always right, just ask your mother. Now, I must away with her. I need her advice. I was looking at a map, and I cannot determine which side of the Wall we’re on."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 85





	life is not a song

“Tell me about the Long Night, Mama.”

"Haven't you tired of that story, yet?" Sansa patted the pillow until Jeyne obediently placed her head where it belonged.

"No, it has dragons!"

"Three dragons. One that the Night King rode into battle, the other two the Targaryen Queen and her—"

"—consort—"

"Yes. Aegon Targaryen, the conqueror come again, the Queen's consort, joined her, and they defeated the army of the dead, reigning fire from above.”

Jeyne’s father entered the room, pressed a kiss to her curls, took Sansa’s hand in his.

"They saved the North,” prompted the girl.

Sansa looked up at her husband, "Yes. They saved us all."

He rolled his eyes. "The Long Night, again?"

“What did you do during the fight, Papa?”

“I was a lowly soldier, who fought with a sword, not on a dragon.”

The girl nodded before returning to her favored topic. "After the Targaryens defeated the Night King, they flew South. And?”

"Evil men, people who thought only of power, filled the queen's head with doubt, suspicion, until her Targaryen blood conquered her good heart."

Sansa ignored her husband’s snort. "Her armies nearly destroyed, all but one dragon dead, she reigned fire on the evil queen Cersei, but she didn't stop. She burned the Red Keep until it was black, and then she burned everything else in King's Landing until the sky was filled with ashes."

"And then?"

"And then she died. To sleep with you!" Said Jeyne’s papa, tugging on Sansa’s hand. But he was ignored again.

"Her lover killed her, justice for the Westerosi."

"And then?" Jeyne asked, looking to her father who smiled. "He chose the wisest man, best man in Westeros—”

"My uncle!"

"Yes, to help the Lords rebuild, to protect the people, to serve them well."

"And what did Aegon do?"

Sansa pulled the furs up to Jeyne’s chin, "He was heartbroken. He took the body of his love, and flew away on the last dragon, never to be heard from again."

"Do you think he lives?"

“I think he will always live in the songs. He was the savior of Westeros, the savior of the North."

"What was he like?"

“I didn’t know him long, but he was solemn, sad even—"

“I met him. He was rather slow of wit.”

Sansa shushed her husband with a look although he grinned, uncowed.

"Was he handsome?"

"So handsome. In the Targaryen way with violet eyes, silver hair. I saw him, on a dragon, and I shall never see a more terrifying or thrilling sight. He was the hero of a song, my every girlish dream."

"Did you love him?"

Sansa leaned forward, "Don't tell you Papa, but I was wildly in love with him, so jealous of his Queen, but he never even saw me. He followed along after his Queen like a—"

"—a duckling,” supplied her unsentimental husband.

“Like a knight, loyal to his lady love. Never has a man loved a woman so completely." Her husband squeezed her hand once, a gesture she returned. "Theirs was the most beautiful, heartbreaking song you’ll ever hear, and I saw it."

"I wish my life was a song" sighed Jeyne.

"No," her father leaned in to kiss her cheek, "My beautiful girl must always remember that life is not a song, and for that she should be grateful.”

Jeyne pulled him down into a hug, “You _always_ say that.”

“And I am always right, just ask your mother. Now, I must away with her. I need her advice. I was looking at a map, and I cannot determine which side of the Wall we’re on." 

Jeyne giggled, and closed her eyes, humming the sad, familiar song.

Sansa allowed herself to be led from the room, murmuring goodnight at the door before softly closing it. She expected to immediately head to the library, but instead she was pulled to a halt in the corridor, her husband’s hands settling on her waist, holding her still before him.

"Wildly in love were you?" A smirk on his lips.

She placed her arms around his neck, her fingers digging into his dark curls. " _Hopelessly_."

"Jealous?"

She nodded, " _Desperately_."

"Were you?" Less teasing, more uncertain.

"You have no idea."

She laughed when he kissed her cheek and then moved those kisses down to her neck.

"Not here, Jon."

"You are my wife." That declaration punctuated with a kiss below her ear, a caress along her arm, and then another kiss on the inside of her elbow, because it was conveniently located, draped on his shoulder. “My lovely wife.”

Sansa could not help her own giggle, as free and light as any young maiden’s, as Jon pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose.

“ _My wife_.”

"Yes, but anyone might see us." 

"Maybe I want them too"

"Jon!" She shrieked 

"Would you deny Aegon, that Targaryen king of yours?"

" _Jon._ " She playfully pushed against him, blushing.

"But he was _so_ handsome, Sansa," He caught her hands, pulling them, and her, back to him before she could escape. He held her, as he often did, tightly to his chest, until they breathed together, as if he sometimes needed to be taken back to their beginning, when all was them, and them alone. Her fingers dug into his back, for at times, she needed it too.

He was murmuring endearments into her hair, "My clever, willful wife. Even then, I could only see you. Did you know that? I kept looking to you, even when I was angry— _especially_ when I was angry."

"I am very good at making you angry."

At that Jon could not laugh. Tilted her head back just enough so that he could see her face, "You are better at making me happy. Whoever heard of a queen choosing a bastard Northman for her husband.”

“All the children in the North will hear it for generations. And everyone who knows better loves their king too well to tell them anything different.”

She put her arm around his waist, “Let’s go to bed. Work will wait until the morning.”

“Aye. It will, but tell me, Sansa,” a smile filling the words he whispered into her ear as he refused to be moved, “When did you decide to declare that your half-brother died as all Stark men do in the South?”

“I barely told an untruth. You went to Dragonstone, but it was Aegon Targaryen, the Queen’s lover who returned. Almost all the Lords who knew you died in the Great War, and the smallfolk believe what they want to believe. My song had a better tune than the others. And Daenerys burning the King in the North when he refused to kneel is more plausible than a Targaryen falling in love with a mere mortal. Westeros likes the idea of the dragon queen flying in a rage to conquer the unwieldly North who refused to kneel, only for her heart to be softened at their bravery, for her to sympathize with our desire to be free, for her to love us and fight the Others with us.” She traced the scars around his eye, ran her fingers across his brow, “The story we believe is the one that we want to believe, not the one that is true, and they prefer this story to the one in which the Targaryen Queen didn’t know that a Northman’s heart is coated in thicker things than ice.”

“This Targaryen found it no difficulty to love a mortal. And whatever my heart was protected by, it was no longer mine to give away when I stepped foot on Dragonstone.”

“As romantic as that sentiment is, our people find the idea of the last Stark falling in love with a bastard from a lowly house who saved her life during the Long Night perfectly adequate and a forgivable foible in their otherwise dutiful queen.”

“My only regret is how many tapestries you had made depicting the Targaryens as our saviors when one of them never existed, we had to kill the one who did, and her monsters killed more people than they saved. It was Arya who—”

“Hush.” Sansa kissed him quickly, and then again, and then once more, a little less quickly. “We do not need glory, we only needed freedom to live. Aegon Targaryen is real because I made him real with a hoarse throat from singing about him at feast after feast until the whole North joined in singing his praises, until men believe they saw him on a dragon, until women claim to have swooned at his feet, until stories about him are more numerous than those of our fallen king who reigned so briefly. He is real because I made him real with needlepricks on these fingers, with tapestry after tapestry, depicting his great deeds.”

Jon brought those fingers to his lips.

“Daenerys Targaryen is our savior because I permit her to become so. You died in my songs, so that you might live, here, with me, and our children.”

Jon sighed, and finally relented, allowing her to lead him to their chambers. “Yes, and the sun rises as you command it and the stars organize themselves at your bidding. It is—"

He stopped abruptly as Sansa opened the door to their rooms, “Sansa?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“ _Children_.”

“Mmmmhhhmmm.”

“Will there be—are you?”

“Yes, Jon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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